Not all who say

Once again I've heard someone appealing to Matthew 7:21–23 to convince an audience that if their works don't line up with their professions, they're not "truly saved."  I've heard this line of reasoning more than once, and I have to admit I find it puzzling. It makes me scratch my head. After all, the ones Christ rejects in those verses are the very ones who appeal to their works in order to prove they're His (Matthew 7:22). 

Accusing God

I was sitting in the Remembrance meeting one morning, and a man stood up and read Luke 15:1–2, "this man receives sinners and eats with them," he looked up and added, "Thank God He does!"

Here are the Pharisees accusing the Son of God of eating with sinners. That's not the only accusation they make against Him, of course, but it's one that sticks because it's true. They know they can't accuse Him of being one of those sinners: there's nothing in what He says or does to support that accusation. They don't like that He's known for eating and drinking – as opposed to fasting – but they haven't seemed to have gotten traction accusing Him of gluttony or drunkenness (Luke 7:33–35). So the accusation that He receives sinners seems like it might get some traction, because it's demonstrably true.

The last chapter of Jonah is in a similar vein: here's the prophet of God, and he points his finger straight at God and rants, "I knew it! I knew it! I knew I couldn't trust you! You're always forgiving people and showing mercy to them! You're always repenting of the evil you said you'd bring!" (Jonah 4:1–3).

Both of these stories are remarkable in that someone is accusing God of something that He actually did. When I think of someone bringing an accusation against God, I don't jump to the accusation being true. Jonah knew God's character better than most of us do. Odd as it sounds, the Pharisees seem to have understood Christ's character better than the disciples did. 

But what the Pharisees didn't understand, what Jonah might not have understood, and what we so frequently miss is, God's mercy to sinners is our only hope. 

The difference between Jonah, a Pharisee, and the man who stood up and read Luke 15 in the Remembrance is that he thanked God for His mercy. The other two resented it.

 

I have been accused of being a "calvinist," which isn't entirely true, but I suppose it's not entirely untrue either. There are many caricatures that come with a label like that. Some of those are built around more than a germ of truth. But there's a truth lurking in there that I'm not sure some of my friends recognize: my only hope for salvation is that God would act unfairly towards me.

It seems to me that a good working definition of grace might be something like: God acting towards me the way He wants to act, with no regard for what I deserve.

Salvation must be an act of sovereign grace, because it's only possible if God acts unilaterally according to His heart, not according to His estimate of me. So when I bask in what Calvinists call, "unconditional election," it's because I recognize that apart from God acting on His own with absolutely no help from me, there's only condemnation for me.

Hymn #181 in the Believers Hymn Book is a favorite of mine. Consider verse 3,

Preserved by Jesus, when
My feet made haste to hell!
And there should I have gone,
But Thou dost all things well:
Thy love was great, Thy mercy free,
Which from the pit delivered me.

Do we really understand that? Do we really appreciate that we were on our way to hell, and doing everything in our power to get there faster? When I think about grace, this hymn comes to mind. I was doing my best to rush to hell, and the Son of God stepped in and ruined all my efforts. He didn't wait for my permission, He didn't wait until I asked for help: He stepped in and stopped it.

 

So we might consider meditating on Jonah's words. We might want to think about his accusations against God. And while we think about the prophet ranting at God – maybe even jabbing his finger in God's face – we might want to add a "Thank God!" at the end of every line.

Has God really said?

Someone was talking about revival in the context of the current events at Asbury. The person made the statement that they're not preaching repentance like Jonah preached repentance. Regardless of what's going on at Asbury – I'm skeptical – , I'm having trouble understanding how someone can read the book of Jonah and conclude that Jonah preached repentance.

Jonah is a remarkable book both because of what it says and because of what it doesn't say. If you read Jonah in a KJV or Darby Translation or even the ASV, you'll be surprised to find that the only Person who is said to repent in the book of Jonah is God (Jonah 3:9–10, Jonah 4:2). Newer translations (NASB, ESV, NKJV, etc.) use the word "relent" instead.

But the point remains that the text doesn't say that either Jonah or the people of Nineveh repented. It's true that the king of Nineveh commanded all the people to "every one turn from his evil way" (Jonah 3:8), so we might see that as repentance, but Scripture doesn't use that word.

It's even harder to make the case that Jonah preached repentance. Scripture tells us explicitly what Jonah preached – "Yet forty days, and Nineveh shall be overthrown!" (Jonah 3:4, ESV). There's no call to repentance in that, it's only a proclamation of judgment. In fact, it's difficult to put a message of repentance in Jonah's words given in Jonah 3:5–10. The king's words in particular are difficult to reconcile with the notion that Jonah was preaching repentance: he explicitly says they should all turn from their evils ways so that perhaps God might see it and change His mind (Jonah 3:9).  That's not someone who believed a message of repentance, it's someone who believed a message of judgment.

So no, Jonah did not preach repentance.

This wouldn't perhaps be worth comment, except that it's a trend I'm seeing in a whole lot of places: the tendency to appeal to Scripture, while not apparently paying attention to what Scripture actually says. And I think the Jonah example is one of the clearest.

On the whole, I think referring to Jonah with respect to so-called revivals is wise. There is a good deal of value in contrasting the repentance of Nineveh with modern "revivals" that don't seem to involve encounters with the holy God, or with one's own need of the Savior. I think this is a good use of Scripture. 

And I can't miss the irony that so many preachers I have heard expound on how Eve got into trouble by misquoting God's words (Genesis 3:3) do the very same thing. I was commenting to my wife recently, that there's a preacher I have found very helpful; but I have never – never – heard him quote Scripture correctly. Every single time, without fail, he slightly misquotes the verse. 

It is good and right that we should judge ourselves by the word of God. It is only proper that we should appeal to its authority and submit ourselves to it. And it should absolutely be the standard that we use to judge what we see and hear. But when we're not careful to say only the words God has said – when we misquote God – that's not evidence that we hold His words in awe. That's not respect, it's merely trying to put the authority of Scripture on our own ideas.

Of course we don't want to make a man a transgressor for a word. Especially when we have so many Bible translations to use, quoting Scripture gets complicated. 

At the same time, if we're going to claim to be speaking the words God spoke, we need to be sure we're quoting them correctly. And when misquoting Scripture is a habit, not something remarkable, then we need to carefully judge whether we really respect what God has said.

Maybe we need to learn to fear God more.

 

Prophetic certainty

I used to wonder why the Lord's coming for us is in Acts (Acts 1:10–11) and the epistles (1 Corinthians 15:51–57; 1 Thessalonians 4:13–18), but not in Revelation. I think there are a few reasons for it, which we might want to discuss.

J. N. Darby differentiates prophecy (which relates to God's purpose and government on earth) from revelation to the church. From that point of view, we could say the Lord's coming for us is a matter of church truth, as opposed to prophecy (and I think Robert has made this point here before, but I can't find it now).  So the Lord's coming for His saints is distinct from the Lord coming with His saints: the former is detailed in the epistles (1 Corinthians 15:51–57; 1 Thessalonians 4:13–18), the latter is in prophecy (Jude 1:14–15; Revelation 19:11ff).  I think there's a good deal of merit in this view.

There's another perspective on this that I think is worth contemplating.  Several years ago I was part of an assembly that went through the book of Revelation over the course of several months' reading meetings. I read through that book many, many times over the course of those meetings, and was struck that it's not truly chronological.  It struck me that Revelation is laid out similarly to Hebrews, where the Lord Jesus is shown to be superior in various comparisons. So the first three chapters show the Lord as Head (and Judge) over the church, then we see Him as superior over Heaven in the next couple chapters; then as superior over the fallen world and its kingdoms; over Satan, and Babylon and the antichrist; then as Judge over the living and the dead; and finally over the new creation. I realize that's very vague.

No doubt there are a lot of consecutive events in Revelation that are specifically mentioned, and there are clues right there in the text. For example, "then I saw" is a common phrase that indicates relation in time. But my point is that there are several sections that might well run concurrently.

It's also worth mentioning that Revelation is certainly a very symbolic book. There are several things in there that are not to be taken literally: the sword coming from the Lord's mouth, for example (Revelation 1:16). I really don't think we'll see a sword in the Lord's mouth when He comes to get us, I'm sure this is a symbolic figure.

So here's one bit of wisdom we can see in the scripture: moving the Lord's coming for us into the epistles, where the language is much less symbolic makes it much easier for us to grasp. We can firmly anchor the apostolic teaching of the Lord's coming literally, physically for us in time and space because of the context of 1 Thessalonians and 1 Corinthians. 

But we might also remember that not all prophecy is actually fulfilled.  And before you jump down to the comments section, consider the prophet Jonah. He predicted the overthrow of Nineveh in forty days, and it didn't happen (Jonah 3:4).  I don't think we fully appreciate this point: the Lord sent Jonah to Nineveh, and His word to Nineveh accomplished exactly what the Lord wanted it to accomplish. But that prophetic warning went unfulfilled, precisely because they believed it.

I have heard that exact argument used for Revelation, and it's difficult to argue against. We know that God will send prophets with the purpose that their warning will be heeded; as a result, what they warn about won't come to pass.

Now, I don't actually think that's going to happen. I do believe Revelation will play out as written. But I don't know what that will look like when it comes to pass. There is symbolic language in that book, and it can be difficult to know which features are symbolic, and which ones are literal. For example: I can believe the demonic locusts (Revelation 9:1–12) will look just like demonic locusts, I can also believe they won't really be visible at all. Remember that Elisha's servant couldn't see the angelic host around him without divine intervention (2 Kings 6:17), maybe the people afflicted by those demonic locusts won't have any sense they're there, except for the pain they inflict. I just don't know. 

But the point is that the Lord's coming for us is not described in terms that invite speculation. Will the Lord come down on an actual horse (Revelation 19:11), or is that a symbolic description? I don't really know. But notice that when the apostle describes His coming to get us (as opposed to His coming with us), he uses much more concrete language.

The Lord Himself will descend with a shout (1 Thessalonians 4:16), the dead in Christ will rise (1 Thessalonians 4:16), those who are His and are still living at that time will meet them in the air (1 Thessalonians 4:17). This isn't symbolic language, and it's not in a context laden with symbolism.

So here's a thought, and I think it gets back to the point that J. N. Darby and Robert were making: we can anchor our hope on the Lord's coming for us much more dogmatically (and certainly) than we can discuss things like what Babylon, or what those demonic locusts are. We can, in a sense, disagree on how to interpret big chunks of Revelation, while agreeing on 1 Corinthians 15:51–57 and 1 Thessalonians 4:13–18. 

Personally, I find Darby's view of the Revelation convincing, and there are significant differences between that and the Scofield notes view. I think I've commented on those differences before.  But there are very good reasons that honest believers sincerely disagree with me on that. And I'm not going to make it a bigger deal than it is.

That being said, I'm certain the Lord's imminent return is not in the same category as the demonic locusts.  The apostolic attitude toward the Lord's return was that it could happen at any moment, and they lived expecting it. Again, I'm not going to accuse people who disagree with me of heresy, but living out the faith once delivered to the saints involves living in expectation that the Lord is coming for us and could be here at any moment. 

 

Comfort one another

J. N. Darby, commenting on 1 Thessalonians 4:13–18 said,

It is remarkable that the consolation which he gives to those who surrounded the death-bed of a Christian, is their friend's return with Jesus, and their mutual meeting. It is customary to say, "Be content: he is gone to glory." This was not the way with the apostle. The comfort which he proposes to those who are mourning the death of a believer is, "Be content: God will bring them back." What a change must not the habitual feelings of Christians have undergone, since the consolation given by an apostle is counted in this day as foolishness! The believers in Thessalonica were penetrated to such a degree with the hope of the return of Christ, that they did not think of dying before that event; and when one of them departed, his friends were afflicted with the fear that he would not be present at that happy moment.

"The Second Coming of Christ", Collected Writings, Vol. 2, pp. 290–300

I first read that 20 or 25 years ago, and I was struck by how pointed 1 Thessalonians 4:13–18 is. Here's a passage that tells us what point it's trying to make, and then tells us how we are to use it. We are taught the Lord's plan for those who are "asleep through Jesus" so that we won't mourn like the heathen who have no hope (1 Thessalonians 4:13–14); and we are to be comforted by the knowledge that God will bring those departed believers back with the Lord when He comes (1 Thessalonians 4:14).

Odd as it seems, I can't recall ever hearing 1 Thessalonians 4:13–18 read at a funeral, or in connection with someone's death. But that's exactly what the passage says we should be doing. It's possible I just haven't been to the "right" funerals – I've often wondered what the reaction would be to someone reading that passage at a funeral.

And I should probably point out that it's not a prohibition on mourning, but a prohibition on mourning like those who have no hope. The Lord Himself mourned for Lazarus, even knowing he'd be raised from the dead within a short time (John 11:33–36). So no, mourning is not wrong.

But in the end, we look forward to the Lord coming for us. As long as we're among "those who remain," then we look for Him to come for us and bring back our loved ones who sleep in Jesus. If we should die first, then we don't lose that hope, but we'll see it from another side. Let's not forget that our hope isn't to be disembodied spirits, but to participate in His resurrection (2 Corinthians 5:1–4).

 

 

 

Here be dragons

Someone tweeted this quote from J. N. Darby:

A distracted heart is the bane of a Christian. When my heart is filled with Christ I have no heart or eye for the trash of the world. If Christ is dwelling in your heart by faith it will not be the question, What harm is there in this, or that? Rather, Am I doing this for Christ?

Now, I have read a LOT of Darby's writings. I'm a huge fan. Still, I found my initial reaction was to reach out to the person and say something like, "Please be careful with this sort of thing!" Since I claim to be a big fan of J. N. Darby, I should probably talk about that.

William R. Newell wrote

We know what debt under God all those who have the truth today owe to Darby, through whom God recovered more truth belonging to the Church of God, than through any other man since Paul, and whose writings are today the greatest treasure of truth and safeguard against error known to instructed believers. Such men had more than an evangelist’s or teacher’s gift. There was spiritual authority they themselves did not seek, attending their ministry. This fact discerning believers,—those free from tradition’s bias, readily see and gladly admit. (Romans Verse-by-Verse, p. 464)

So why would I advise caution?

Galatians 5:16–21 catalogs the works of the flesh, and it contains the sorts of things we expect: licentiousness, idolatry, hatred, and so on. But those aren't all the works of the flesh: disputes and schools of opinion are included in that list. The flesh doesn't always manifest itself in gross immorality, but also in very religious ways too. In fact, I've read through Galatians many, many times, and I can't find any evidence that there was any sort of immorality going on in Galatia.

The problem in Galatia wasn't rampant immorality, but rampant moralism.

There lurks a little Galatian in many – probably all – of us. That little Galatian loves to get a hold on something like this quote by Darby and drive us into a spiral of introspective despair. I have known more than one person crippled by introspection, examining every thought and every action and every motive to determine whether it's "of Christ." Oddly, that introspection tends to lead into legalism more than it leads into Christ-likeness.

And really, when we're introspective, our eyes are full of ourselves, not Christ. So I'm not saying anything other than what the original quote said: a heart full of Christ doesn't have time for worldliness, but a heart fixated on whether it's full of Christ isn't actually a heart full of Christ. It's a heart full of self.

Reading Darby changed my life. I grew up in a Christian home, going to church every week, even attending a Christian school. I had heard and believed the Gospel at an early age. I have no doubt I was born again when I was very young. But my concept of Christianity was something like, "God has forgiven me, now I have to live for Him." And that led me, of course, to attempt to walk in godliness and holiness in the power and energy of the flesh. See, I understood that Christ has died for me, but I had no real concept that I had died with Him.

So that's one possible error: the error of skipping from Romans 5:1 to Romans 12:1, ignoring the essential teaching in Romans 6–8. And frankly, that seems to be typical of evangelicalism. The majority of evangelicals I have met seem to be trying to do something like that. "Christ has died for you, now you have to live for Him."

And yes, that seems to be the majority view among so-called brethren too. That little inner Galatian really thrives on this sort of "Christianity," which isn't really Christianity at all. It's just Judaism on this side of the cross.

 

But there is another error we might fall into. This is the error of diving into Romans 6–8 and staying there. Romans doesn't end in chapter 8, but so many who find deliverance in Romans 6–8 act like it does. Is it any less wrong to neglect Romans 9–16 than it is to neglect Romans 6–8? I don't think it is.

And I admit with chagrin that I spent many years stuck in this latter error. 

This seems to be a trap particularly dangerous for people who read Darby. Darby's ministry calls us to a life that's led and empowered by the Spirit of God. It's not that, "Christ has died for me and now I live for Him," rather it's "the life of Jesus manifested in my mortal body" (2 Corinthians 4:10). This is nothing less than Paul calls us to. This is precisely the teaching of Colossians 3:1–4. Christ has been raised, and we have been raised with Him.

But when we've glimpsed that life – perhaps even experienced it – then there is a tendency for the flesh to manifest itself in a sort of mysticism. This isn't actually any better than legalism, but it's not quite the same thing, at least in the beginning. And so we might find in ourselves a tendency to sit in Colossians 3:1–4, never quite getting around to all those practical verses in the second half of that chapter.

And something really strange starts to happen after a while: we start to find that our little inner mystic bears a strong resemblance to that little inner Galatian. And we find ourselves being very legalistic about not being legalistic. And we find ourselves taking those very verses about being freed by our death with Christ and turning them into yet another law to put ourselves (and everyone else) under.

The truth of the Word of God is that we can't divorce the opening verses of Colossians 3 from the rest. We can't live out Colossians 3:17ff without Colossians 3:1–4. But if we just camp out in Colossians 3:1–4 and ignore the rest of the chapter, we end up in something that's just as foreign to the Word of God as that powerless and fleshly legalism the Galatians invented.

And that's why I advise caution with Darby's ministry. There is very little that has affected my life like Darby's ministry. At the same time, I have seen in myself and in others a tendency to camp out in the bits of that ministry that seem different and refreshing, to the detriment of our own spiritual health.

God has called us to the life of Jesus manifested in our mortal flesh. We can't do that on our own, but knowing about it without experiencing it is not Christianity. It's some sort of twisted mysticism that contains just enough truth to get us into real trouble. There's nothing good down that path.

 

One red flag I have learned to recognize is what we might call "the advanced class" mindset. I have noticed this sort of thing tends to accompany trouble. It's hard to put a finger on exactly where the threshold is for this sort of thing, but in my 45+ years walking with the Lord, I've seen this many times. It could be membership in a specific church, or adherence to some doctrine or practice that differentiates the "enlightened" from other Christians. Basically, any sort of Shibboleth that divides the "spiritually mature" from the others is an indicator some serious problems. 

The best remedy against this sort of thing is to be content with Christ.

I was once told that the story of the daughters of Zelophehad (Numbers 27:1–11) teaches that "not everyone is assembly material," so "we" shouldn't intermarry with other Christians. If that doesn't scream "CULT" I'm not sure what does.

There is a remedy to this sort of thing, and Colossians models it for us. Before we do anything else, we need to worship the Father and adore the Son. Notice Colossians spends a lot of time in adoring the Son before it turns to our place in Him. Skipping Colossians 3:1–4 to get to Colossians 3:17ff is a recipe for disaster. Skipping Colossians 1:12–20 to get to Colossians 3:1–4 is exactly the same thing. Our first and highest calling is to worship God, and nothing good comes of neglecting that.

So we start by being worshipers of God and His Christ. And we recognize that nothing good comes of camping out in Colossians 3:1–4 and not going on to obey the rest of the chapter.

 

I suppose I should say: I am all for slowly and deliberately digesting the Word of God. So no, I don't think it's wrong to memorize those amazing verses in Romans 6–8 or Colossians 3. I certainly am not saying we shouldn't ruminate on them, or meditate on them, or dwell on them. I am saying when our mindset is something like, "I'll obey those other verses some other time," then we're in trouble. Colossians 3:1–4 isn't the end of the chapter: we're to go on from there and see the truth of our identity in Christ work itself out in how we behave in the real world.

And I highly recommend reading Darby. Honestly, nothing I'm saying here isn't in his ministry. It's just easy to miss it sometimes.

 

Fatal assumptions

When I read through the Old Testament I am struck every time by the tension between the Law on the one hand, and the common state of godlessness on the other. And this tension occurs at more than one level. Let's consider some examples.

When Moses brought the Israelites to Sinai, the command to circumcise all males was very clear (Leviticus 12:1–4). This command really predates the Law entirely (see Galatians 3:15-17), going back to Abraham (Genesis 17:9–14). There's no question that circumcision was commanded and expected. However, when we get to Joshua 5, we find that those who came out of Egypt had been circumcised, but the nation had apparently not practiced circumcision while they were in the wilderness (Joshua 5:4-7).

It baffles me. There is no clearer command in the Old Testament than circumcision. And Moses had to have known how seriously God takes it, after the journey back to Egypt (Exodus 4:24–26). But the plain statement of Joshua 5:2–7 is that circumcision hadn't been practiced at all in the wilderness. I have trouble reconciling those things in my mind.

 

Here's another example: Saul sends men to watch David in his house and kill him the next day (1 Samuel 19:11–17). Michal, David's wife and Saul's daughter, tells David to escape through the window and she puts "the image" in the bed to make them think it was David (1 Samuel 19:13).  What is "the image?" The NASB clarifies, by rendering "the image" as "the household idol" (1 Samuel 19:13 NASB). 

So here's a puzzle: why does David have a household idol? And why isn't it ever mentioned again?

Were we to judge David based on what Scripture tells us of his peccadilloes, we would be right to conclude that David was a man of loose morals. If we're not convinced by anything else, we might be convinced by Tamar's opinion that David would sanction an incestuous marriage with her half-brother (2 Samuel 13:13).

Here's another example: if we compare the law of the king (Deuteronomy 17:14–20) to the description of Solomon's reign (1 Kings 4:1ff), it's difficult to reconcile the two. If Solomon had set out to deliberately disobey every single command God gave to the king, he couldn't have done a more thorough job. He literally does the opposite of what God commands: he multiples horses to himself (1 Kings 4:26) – horses from Egypt no less (2 Chronicles 1:16–17) – and wives (1 Kings 11:3-4). He multiplies silver and gold to himself (1 Kings 9:28) to the point where silver wasn't considered valuable (1 Kings 10:21).

I realize the point of the descriptions of Solomon's wealth was to show God's blessings on him, but the fact remains that Solomon did exactly the opposite of what God commanded the king to do, and God blessed him in it.

We could go on: we could enumerate the sins of David and Solomon and Moses and virtually every other Old Testament saint. But the point isn't to slander men (and women too) that God loved and loves. The point is first, that God shows each of them grace. Second, the point is that I find myself entirely unable to explain where God draws the line, so to speak. I cannot tell you why God acts against David in the case of Urijah and Bathsheba, but He doesn't act against David when he demands Michal back (compare Deuteronomy 24:1–4 with 2 Samuel 3:13–16). I can't explain why David's household idol gets no more than a passing mention, but Solomon's worship of Chemosh, Milcom, and Molech causes God to act against him (1 Kings 11:4–7).

Perhaps the most surprising thing of all is that scripture tells us David's heart was perfect (1 Kings 11:4) and he followed God fully (1 Kings 11:6).

 

Of course we see similar themes in the New Testament as well. 

I realized a while ago that Luke's gospel opens with descriptions of godly and upright people when the nation was in utter ruin: Zecharias and Elizabeth, Mary and Joseph, Simeon, and Anna. Luke is very careful to relate that four of these people are connected with the Temple in Jerusalem. Mary and Joseph are in Nazareth, so they're not so immediately connected with the Temple, but when the dedication of the Lord is mentioned, it's explicitly connected with obeying the Law (Luke 2:22–24).

Bear in mind, this is after Ezekiel 10:15–22. God's glory had left the Temple long before this. And this wasn't even the same temple! It wasn't Solomon's temple, nor even Zerubabbel's. This was Herod's temple. But Scripture treats it like it was the place where God had set His name. More shockingly, the Lord Himself referred to it as His "Father's house" (John 2:13–16).

And we might also remember the priests in Christ's day were Sadducees (Acts 5:17–18). They didn't believe in the resurrection (Matthew 22:23, Acts 23:8). That's a pretty big heresy. But the Lord acknowledged the Temple. 

Luke takes care to demonstrate Anna's godliness by describing how dedicated she was to the temple (Luke 2:36–38). If there was ever justification for writing off a temple, Herod's would be the one to write off. But the New Testament authors are careful to honor it, and Christ Himself acknowledged it.

 

Here's a final observation: Luke 24:13–34 tells us about two disciples walking to Emmaus after the Resurrection. They didn't know about the Resurrection, of course, but there they were, walking to Emmaus. They were going to wrong way: they should have been walking to Galilee (Matthew 28:7). But the Lord catches them up on the road, and He walks with them. Let's be clear about this: they're going the wrong way, and He goes with them.

 

All these stories might act as an antidote to pharisaism and puritanism, if we let them. If we think on them, meditate on them, and let them sink in, we might find some useful applications from them.

From the story of the circumcision in Gilgal we might learn something like: if you see a man entirely negligent of some fundamental observance, it might be he's more like Moses than you are. Leaving an entire generation uncircumcised is a big deal... but I'd love God to say the things about me that He says about Moses.

From the story of David and Michal we might learn something like: If you see a man with idols in his home, don't just assume he's not fully devoted to God. Don't forget a man whose heart was perfect with God had an idol in his home.

From the story of Bathsheba and Urijah we might learn something like: if you see a believer sin egregiously with no signs of repentance or remorse, don't forget God didn't send Nathan to confront David for about a year. It's possible for a true believer to live in the shadow of his sins for a very long time.

From the story of Solomon we might learn something like: just because someone burns incense on the high places doesn't mean that God isn't going to ask him what he wants. And just because God is blessing someone doesn't mean that he's walking uprightly. He could be enjoying God's blessings while at the very same time he's disobeying in every way.

From the story of Anna and Simeon in the temple we might learn something like: when we see someone faithfully attending a church built by a wicked man, run by godless heretics, don't assume God isn't counting that as genuine devotion. Even the church in Thyatira had overcomers, and there's not a word in Scripture to suggest they should have left it.

From the story of Christ cleansing the Temple we might learn something like: when we see someone going to worship God in a church built by a wicked man, run by leadership that doesn't even believe in the Resurrection, let's not assume Christ wouldn't go there too.  If there are as few as two or three gathering there for Him, then He's there (Matthew 18:20).

From the story of the two walking to Emmaus we might learn something like: when we see someone walking the wrong direction, let's not assume the Lord isn't walking with them. It's probably better to be going the wrong way alongside Christ than it is to be going the right way alone.

Now, I realize that there's a need for repentance. And I fully agree that when we see problems in our own lives, we aren't just to ignore them. We're to repent of them, turning to God from idols to serve the living and true God. I'm not out here trying to teach a lax attitude towards obedience. But if we learn nothing else from our Bible stories, let's learn that God almost never does what we expect Him to. 

That's pretty much the definition of "grace."